


Proxy

by cleromancy



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Incomplete, Infidelity, Jealousy, M/M, Multi, PWP, proxyfucking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-09
Updated: 2012-05-27
Packaged: 2017-11-03 08:41:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/379459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleromancy/pseuds/cleromancy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jason and Tim are jerks who like each other. Kon gets caught in the crossfire. Luckily for him, the crossfire is mainly blowjobs. </p><p>Proxyfucking fic. Ultimately Jason/Tim, porn in all variations of Jason/Kon/Tim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I owe a huge debt to Justine (@ampersandand on tumblr) for helping me out with Kon's voice in this story.

When Jason picks a fight with Tim these days, the results are more closer to spars than anything. Seeking Tim out isn’t about anger anymore, and it hasn’t been in a while. Part of it’s habit, but now there’s something new that makes it almost like a game they're playing. Almost like flirting. 

Like this hold Jason’s got Tim in. Unnecessarily close, with Tim pulled so his back is pressed against Jason's front. It's not a good hold, except for the way it lets Jason lean down and talk into Tim's ear. The way he can feel Tim shiver when Jason’s nose brushes the edge of the Red Robin cowl. 

"This is the second outfit you've stolen from me," Jason murmurs. "I'm starting to think you just like wearing my clothes."

Tim tugs a little against the hold. Jason lets him go, smirking when Tim turns to face him. Tim’s mouth is open to respond, one of the poison-tipped barbs Jason likes so much, when out of nowhere Tim gets grabbed around the waist by a grinning asshole in an S-shield t-shirt. 

Whatever Tim was going to say comes out of his mouth as “oof,” when the two of them hover up and backwards, away. Jason gapes. 

Superboy’s grin turns shit-eating. He glances at Jason conspiratorially and says, "I'm gonna borrow Tim for a while. Promised him rooftop makeouts, and what do you know, it's my only free night." He jostles Tim a bit in an effort to secure his grip. Tim involuntarily clutches at Superboy’s arm to steady himself. Jason's throat is suddenly tight. 

"I'll bring him back in a bit," Superboy says. 

He winks at Jason companionably, all “you know how it is,” and they're gone, like they were never there, leaving Jason alone on the rooftop. 

It takes a minute to sink in, to realize what just happened. The second it does, Jason’s furious at himself. He can’t even fathom *why* he ever bothers to let himself want anything at all. Why he ever lets himself hope for something good, for once in his goddamn life. There's never anyone to blame but himself, for thinking—wanting—no. Fuck it. It doesn't matter. 

Jason shoves his helmet back on unnecessarily roughly, and launches himself off the rooftop. He’s going to find his bike and break a dozen road rules to get to his apartment as fast as he fucking can. 

Gotham can fucking well deal without him for the rest of the night.


	2. Chapter 2

Kon should probably have listened when Tim ordered him to stay out of it. But he's immune to Tim's glare by now, and anyway Tim never knows what's good for him. 

Besides, Bart says making people jealous to get people together is a common trope (or something) in chick flicks. He went on to say something about dissecting the tropes and their applicability to real life situations, but Kon tuned out once Bart mentioned Jessica Alba, because mmm, Jessica Alba. 

Normally Kon’s of the opinion that any time spent thinking about Jessica Alba is the best applicable use of time, but he’s quickly reconsidering. Because now he's flying over Gotham with a panicking, hyperventilating Tim in his arms and that split second of hurt on Jason's face burned into his mind's eye.

Kon feels pretty terrible right about now.

He sets Tim down on the rooftop and has to catch him again to steady him when he stumbles. "Shit," Kon says, and again, "Shit. I—" Tim is glaring at him. Loudly.

Maybe Kon’s not as immune to the glare as he thought. 

"I may not have thought that out as well as I thought I did," Kon says.

"You _think_?" Tim snarls. 

Kon hurriedly takes a step back. And then another. And then floats up a few feet in the air for good measure. "I'm sorry! It seemed like a good idea at the--I didn't know he was gonna look all heartbroken. Instead of jealous."

"Here's an idea," Tim growls. "Maybe you could trust my greater experience, for once, since it's _my_ love life, and you apparently have no idea how relationships work outside of romantic comedies."

Kon winces. "I can fix this! I'm gonna go talk to him." He ignores Tim's sudden look of alarm.

"Don't--Kon! Don't you dare, you just might have ruined--" but Kon's already taken off, leaving Tim stranded on the rooftop with no way to follow. 

“Bastard!” Tim screams after him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (This is where the porn starts)

Jason hasn't even closed his window yet by the time Superjerk finds him. "What the fuck," Jason growls. "I can't even fucking—FUCK!” 

He throws his helmet to the ground, ripping off his domino without bothering with solvent. It takes a little skin with it. Jason glares at the wall, focusing on getting his breathing under control. He’s trying to remind himself this isn't a fight he could win. That even if he could it wouldn't change anything. 

It’s just hard when his brain keeps painting a real pretty picture of breaking Superboy’s face.

"Um, I--planned that kinda badly," Superboy says. “Aw shucks” is practically bleeding out of every pore.

Jason doesn't want to see him right now. Can’t handle it. There's something that looks an awful lot like pity on Superboy’s face. Jason isn't sure how much longer he can deal with this earnest routine before he really does break his hand on Superboy's pretty, invulnerable face. He has a stabbing second of regret that there's no Kryptonite on him. He won't make that mistake again. 

"I didn't mean for that to happen," Superboy tries again.

"You can't fucking--" Jason can’t even say it. Doesn’t know what he was going to say. You can't plan for some random asshole's feelings. You don't owe me anything. You don't have to care. Jason turns around and peels off his gloves. He’s trying really fucking hard to remind himself that he doesn't have to care, either.

"No, really," Superboy says, earnest as a boy scout, as if it really matters to him how Jason feels about Superboy fucking his own boyfriend. Jason hates him more every fucking second. 

"Tim's always telling me not to rush into things--"

Jason can't, actually, listen to him talk about Tim. "Fuck you," Jason spits, ripping off his jacket and throwing it on the ground. He needs Superboy to get the fucking hint and leave, but he isn't, instead hovering there like two hundred pounds of anxious, alien Labrador Retriever. 

"Do what you want,” Jason says. “I'm not fucking involved."

"But--" Superboy sounds so fucking bewildered, so fucking hurt, and when Jason finally turns around he's still hovering, just inside Jason's window. He's looking at the floor, a kicked puppy in a homemade T-shirt. "I thought you, wait, so--you did wanna--"

"It doesn't--" matter, Jason starts, but Superboy cuts him off.

"I just wanted to make things okay," Superboy says, pleading with those huge puppy-dog eyes, and Jason's suddenly pissed again. Anger floods through him, burning electric from his gut to his throbbing knuckles. 

He crosses the distance between them in four long strides and shoves square between Superjerk's fucking romance novel pecs. When Superboy's off balance, Jason gets right in his face.

“You can't," Jason says meanly. “You can’t fix anything.” He gives Superboy a hard, ugly kiss, one that would bruise Superboy if he were human. It’s not as satisfying as taking a swing, but it’s better than nothing. Jason’s a firm believer in taking what he can get.

Jason pulls back. He means to say, “Get out," so he can be alone and take a shower and wash off the last of this shitty night, but when he moves Superboy surges forward and follows his mouth, clutching at Jason's shoulders. Jason has a moment to think, what a fucking douchebag, and Tim _picked_ this guy? before Superboy's on him, intent, intense, and Jason thinks, _well, if that's how you wanna play it,_ and bites Superjerk's lower lip. The moan he gets in return pisses him off just a little bit more. 

Jason does it again, taking Superboy’s lip into his mouth this time. He sucks it, hard. Superboy's hands clench on his shoulders tightly enough that Jason can feel it through the armor. Jason growls and shoves his thigh between Superboy's. There's the sickest sense of vindictive satisfaction when the asshole whimpers. 

"Of all the fucking nerve," Jason sneers. "You want this so fucking bad. Not getting enough from Timmy?" Jason cuts off the reply he had no fucking interest in hearing with another wet, nasty kiss.

He licks Superboy's mouth, his teeth, the underside of his tongue. Deliberately sloppy and messy, careless because technique is too good for this douchebag. He bites Superboy's tongue, then sucks on it. 

Superboy's hands move to Jason's hips, slide around to his ass, yanking them together. Jason rolls his hips, a harsh, deliberate grind, and smiles meanly when Superboy whines high in his throat. 

“You want this so fucking bad," Jason says again. He's looking Superboy in the eye now. There's fear there but the asshole's flushing, his pupils dilating and swallowing his irises; his hips are making tiny, aborted jerks against Jason's. Like a puppy humping Jason’s leg. Jason laughs at him, spiteful and harsh even to his own ears. Superboy looks away and swallows.

"Hey," Jason says. Smirks. "Hey, Superjerk, pop quiz," and Jason grabs his chin. He knows he can't force Superboy to look at him, to face him, but it doesn't make it less satisfying when Superboy lets Jason move his face until they're eye-to-eye. 

Jason gives him his ugliest smile. “When we want something, what do we do?" 

Superboy looks confused, looks turned on, looks like he's about to open his fucking mouth. Jason cuts him off again with a hard, sloppy kiss.

Jason pulls back. "No, I don't fuckin' care what you have to say," Jason says, and drops to his knees.

"Tim--" Superboy starts. Jason growls, “Shut the fuck up," as he’s going for the button of Superboy’s jeans, but Superboy finishes with "--has me bugged." 

Oh. 

Maybe Jason really does care what Superboy has to say.

"Good," he says, and finally pops open Superboy's jeans. 

There's a little squeak from above. Jason glances up for a second, smirking. Only for a second, because now there's the pressing matter of the boner in his face. Jason leans in, nuzzles his face against Superboy's cock, still tucked away in his—Jesus Christ—Pokemon print boxers; his jeans are still up around his hips, open just enough for Jason to get to the good stuff. He opens his mouth and presses it against the bulge in the fabric, mouths at it. He can taste cotton, and under it the hint of musk and salt. Superboy's hands are clenching on the wall behind him, with obvious restraint. 

Jason pulls back a little for a mocking laugh, sending gusts of warm air onto Superboy's cock. He says, “Hey, where's the mic?" and "Hey," impatiently, when it takes Superboy a minute to answer.

"Jeans," Superboy manages. Jason laughs at him again, and a little more again when Superboy's cock visibly twitches with it. Good thing Superboy gets off on getting mocked, ‘cause Jason senses there’s gonna be a lot of that tonight.

"Hey, Timmy," Jason says. It's almost like he's talking to Superboy's cock. He snickers. "Tim, Timmy boy, I'm gonna give your boyfriend something to give to you, from me. I'm fuckin' generous like that." He reaches up and gives Superboy’s cock a good squeeze. Superboy makes a startled, choking noise, and Jason laughs again. 

"I sure do hope you like it," Jason says, saccharine, before pulling down Superboy’s boxers just enough to get them out of the way. He deliberately lets the elastic snap against Superboy’s balls when his cock springs free.

Jason gives himself a moment to size up Superboy’s cock, to admire, let his mouth water with anticipation, before giving the underside of his cock a long, noisy lick with the flat of his tongue. He wraps his hand around the base, holding it steady to lap at the head. Jason likes, savors this moment of familirizing himself, warming up, getting the taste and feel on his tongue before he stuffs his mouth with cock, but usually he doesn't have the patience. 

Right now he does, but that’s just because he's thinking about how great it’s gonna sound on the other side. 

Jason swirls his tongue around the head of Superboy’s cock, under the ridge; flicks it over the leaking slit and lets himself taste it. Gets it good and wet. He pulls off with a beautiful, resonating pop. There's a string of saliva between his lips and Superboy's cock when he backs away, settling on his haunches. He hears Superboy whimper at the sight. 

"Where are you right now?" Jason murmurs. He strokes Superboy's dick, more like petting than jerking him off. It's got to be frustrating--Superboy's jerking his hips and whining, like it's just enough friction to taunt him. Jason doesn't really care. "Wishing you were here?" 

Jason’s mind supplies an image, Tim with the Red Robin cowl pushed back, damp hair sticking to his flushed, angry face, his hand down his pants. A moan forces its way out of Jason's throat. He opens his mouth and sinks back down on Superboy's cock, far enough that his lips meet the circle of his fist. He sucks, hard, probably be too hard for a human, but just makes Superboy groan. 

Jason wants to grin at the sound, but he wants Superboy's cock down his throat more, so he moves his hand off of Superboy's dick and grabs his hips instead. He opens his throat and sinks down as far as he can go. Superboy's loud, and getting louder with Jason deep throating him; Jason always appreciates responsive noises, but knowing Tim's listening to Jason making his boyfriend moan really _makes_ this experience for Jason.

Because Jason's good at it. And he's making it good--maybe too wet, but saliva makes the slick noises nice and loud. Besides, Superboy doesn't seem to mind. Jason hums around his cock, and Superboy says something Jason doesn't quite catch. One of Superboy’s hands flutters up into Jason's field of vision and hovers, like it isn't sure what it's allowed to touch. Jason pulls off.

"You want your hands in my hair?" Jason asks. His voice sounds sexy—hoarse. Rough. Used. "Hear that, Tim? Your boyfriend wants his hands in my hair." Jason laughs.

"Hey, I'm--I'm not his boyfriend," Superboy says. 

Jason says, “Shut up," and, "you gonna do it?" because there's not a lot he enjoys more than hair-pulling when he's got a mouth full of cock. Slowly, Superboy threads a shaking hand through Jason's sweaty curls, tugging a little at a snarl. 

Suddenly Jason has a brilliant idea. He's good for that, sometimes. "I want him to fuck my mouth," Jason says, and grins when Superboy chokes. "Maybe if I ask nicely..."

"Um."

"Nah, fuck that." Jason laughs. “C’mon, Superjerk. You know you want to." 

With that Jason sinks back down onto Superboy's cock, tightening his grip on Superboy’s hips. Pushes back just a little against the hand in his hair, and—yeah, that's Superboy's other hand, joining the first to tangle in it. Jason looks up at Superboy, not taking his mouth off Superboy’s cock for a second. 

He holds Superboy's gaze, daring him, and then lets his eyes slip closed. 

Superboy shudders so hard Jason can feel it, and then jerks into his mouth. Jason moans, appreciably, encouragingly. Thinking about Tim on the other side. Wondering if he likes hearing Jason moan with Superboy's cock in his mouth, or if he's pissed. Maybe it's both. Jason wonders if he's imagining himself in Superboy's place or Jason's.

Superboy's trying to be gentle, but fuck gentle; Jason, purposely careless, lets his teeth scrape against Superboy’s cock. Superboy's hips jerk a little harder, forcing his dick against the roof of Jason’s mouth. At the same time, Superboy’s hands are tangling, pulling, and it’s making Jason whine and gasp.

"Sorry, sorry," Superboy pants. Jason glares up at him, pushes back against his hands. Superboy finally manages to get with the goddamn program and pushes Jason back down, crushing Jason's nose against Superboy’s pelvic bone. 

Jason moans in satisfaction. This is what Jason really wanted, _craved,_ even if Superboy is still just this side of too cautious. At least Superboy's still yanking at Jason's hair, still moaning loud enough for Tim to hear. He's started babbling nonsense that Jason's tuned out. He’s focused on the feeling; his lips are stretched, aching, and the weight on his tongue is fucking perfect. Superboy's big enough to fill up his mouth, and even if the thrusts are shallow, they're not tentative. It's really fucking good.

So good that Jason's starting to remember that he's still in his armor; his cup is seriously restrictive. He takes one hand off of Superboy's hips to shove at his own pants, squeezing the other hand to keep Superboy's hips still, because he doesn't actually want to choke on superdick. Superboy's panting loudly, like a fucking dog, but he manages to keep his hips mostly still. As a reward Jason mostly keeps his teeth under control as he wriggles far enough out of his armor to free his dick. 

The first touch of his own hand makes Jason moan with relief. It's so good even with just the tip of Superboy's dick in his mouth. He swallows once, then leans forward to take the rest of Superboy's dick back down, and Superboy doesn't need to be prompted this time—good, he fucking learns—and pulls Jason in, thrusting his hips against Jason's face. 

And then Jason can focus on fucking his own fist in the same rhythm Superboy's fucking his mouth, and he can hear the noises Jason's making--Jason's not quiet either, not even with his mouth muffled with dick. He’s never been more grateful for that than he is right now, because it means he gets to picture Tim hearing on the end of the line.

Superboy's still whining, babbling, saying shit Jason can't be bothered to listen to until he realizes Tim is clinging to every word. There's "fuck, your mouth," and "shit shit shitfuck," and "god," and "Jason," intermixed with pitchy noises high in his throat. Jason doesn't wanna think about Superboy learning his name, doesn't want him to say it at all, but it’s not like Jason can make him unlearn it. Plus there's something good about knowing that Tim's hearing it, hearing Superboy moaning Jason’s name, something that fills his belly with liquid heat. 

Jason moans again, so far gone that it’s not even on purpose.

Either the noise or the vibration makes Superboy pump his hips faster against Jason’s mouth, getting less and less cautious. He's moved from cursing to pleading _and_ cursing, now. 

"Please--fuck--" 

Tim's listening to this, hearing him _beg_. 

“Fuck, I'm--I'm gonna come,” Superboy’s saying, and Jason can almost see Tim biting down hard on his hand to stop himself from making noise, jerking his skinny hips into his fist. Superboy's shaking hands release him, pet his hair instead of pulling, as if he’s giving Jason room to pull off. 

Fucking as if. Jason’s not going anywhere.

He relaxes, unsheathes his teeth just a little to scrape them. It makes Superboy yelp, makes him jam his hips harder against Jason's face, and then he's coming down Jason's throat. Jason forces himself to hold still and swallow as much as he can, throat working, and Tim just heard Jason sucking off his boyfriend, and Jason's last thought before he comes is wishing Tim could _see_ it too.

He pulls off and rests his head against Superboy's thigh for a second, shaking a little. There’s come dribbling down his chin. Superboy's still petting his hair, careful and awed. Jason wishes he could catch his breath so he could tell him to stop.

"Hey, are you--" Superboy starts. 

Jason looks up. His lips feel swollen, red. They’re bruised enough that he can feel his pulse in them. He knows how good he looks right now. It's a real pity the sight's wasted on this asshole. 

"Um," Superboy says, stutters, and uses his thumb to wipe away the little trickle of come Jason hadn't managed to swallow. Jason lets him do it. Makes it clear he's letting him, a sneer forming on his face. 

Superboy lets go of him. "Do you--need a hand? Or--"

"You've done enough, doncha think?" Jason says. His voice sounds rough, used. Fucking hilarious, considering who got used in this scenario. Superboy's still looking at him like he's concerned. 

"No," Jason sneers, settling back on his heels. “No, I don’t need a fucking hand."

Superboy stares at him for a second, awkward, shifting from foot to foot like he's got something on his mind. "I'm, um," and for a second, Jason thinks he's going to thank him, or something equally horrible. "I'm really not his boyfriend. Just to. Make that clear."

"Get out," Jason groans, closing his eyes and rubbing at his forehead. When he opens them again, Superboy's gone, and there's only the throbbing in his lips and the come on the floor that makes it look like he was ever there.


	4. Chapter 4

So...that happened.

That was not what was supposed to happen. Tim's gonna kill him. Kon's career as a matchmaker, tragically over before it began.

His brain is frantically composing apologies, each more hysterical and nonsensical and completely unlikely to stop Tim from killing him than the next. "Sorry I'm irrisistable." "Sorry I got the best blowjob in recent memory from the dude I was trying to set you up with." "Sorry, but he's really hot and he wanted his mouth on my dick and I wanted his mouth on my dick and then his mouth was on my dick." 

Maybe Tim didn't listen in. Kon almost laughs out loud. Of course he was listening--he's too much of a control freak not to, and he would have been trying to figure out precisely how much damage control he was gonna have to do.

Kon is still trying to figure out what exactly to say that can...maybe fix this, if it's even fixable, when he reaches Tim's Robin's nest--Red Robin's nest? whatever--and starts using his TTK to pick the lock on the window. Tim's there, stripped to his undershit and briefs. He's facing away from Kon, folding his costume. 

Kon doesn't want to think of himself as a coward, but he's fucking terrified right now. It's unfair that Tim can be so scary when Kon can see his scrawny naked chicken legs.

He hovers for a second just inside the room. It's quiet, "Tim," he says, wincing when his voice cracks. Tim doesn't turn around, but he stiffens just enough to let Kon know he's heard.

There's a tense moment. Kon's intensely aware of Tim--he's controlling his breathing, but his heartbeat is way up; Kon can't tell if he's scared or if he's pissed and hoping Kon will leave if he doesn't acknowledge him. 

Tough shit. Kon's not leaving without at least trying to apologize, even if it comes out all wrong like it always does.

"Come on," he says, just a little more desperate than he'd like to. "Tim, I'm sorry," and maybe it's something in his voice, but Tim finally turns around, and--oh.

"Oh," Kon says, accidentally. Tim's expression is controlled in a way that means he's feeling _something_ , and he's flushed, and his terrible cowl hair has couple locks sticking to his forehead with sweat--and Kon takes a breath, and that smell that he hadn't really noticed because his brain was focusing on "oh no Tim is gonna be so pissed," it's spunk, it's Tim's spunk, and--

"You totally just jerked off," Kon says. Tim's face gets even stonier, and Kon winces again. One day he'll be able to control his mouth, and this will stop happening. One day.

"Um," Kon says. "Pretend I didn't just say that."

They stare at each other. Tim looks almost like he's wearing a mask. Kon swallows. He'd had...back in Young Justice, he'd had kind of a thing for Tim. For Robin, because that's all he'd known of him. He'd wanted to get under his skin, make him feel something for once. Make him react. That never really went away, if he's honest with himself.

"Why did you come here," Tim says, and--yeah, he even sounds like Robin. Impersonal. Impatient. It's making Kon a little weak at the knees. And. Tim jerked off thinking about him, him and Jason, and. Yeah. Kon's brain is going fuzzy. He licks his lips and then takes a couple steps closer to Tim. Tim makes no move to stop him, just watches him with narrowed eyes.

"He. He said," Kon starts, heart racing, "he said it was for you," and Tim's hands twitch minutely at his sides. They're close now, within reaching distance. "He wanted me to give it to you. Give it back to you," and from close up that blank look hasn't changed, and it's still ludicrously appealing, and Tim's breath has started coming faster, and Kon knows not for him, not his doing, and he doesn't care.

He wants this. He wants to make Tim lose it, wants Tim to lose control and fuck his mouth like he fucked Jason's. He wants to be _used_. And Tim's still not saying anything, just staring at him, and Kon's this close to begging Tim to let him suck his dick when Tim opens his mouth.

"Are you going to do it?" Tim says, still in that clinical, disinterested voice that shouldn't be as arousing as it is.

Kon's knees definitely buckle just a little. He's not proud of it, but there it is. "Fuck yes," he says, and it sounds just a little raspy. He doesn't care. He drops to his knees.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warning for violence in this chapter!

Tim has constructed at least twelve plans that will allow him to avoid Jason for the rest of his life, but Jason's never had any respect for Tim's plans; there's no reason he would start now.

"Didja get my present?" Jason's leering at him, blue eyes glinting under the mask. He'd managed to cut off Tim's escape route in record time; Tim had been too distracted trying not to die of embarrassment to notice. He gets careless whenever Jason's around. It's starting to become a problem. He avoids Jason's eyes, wishing he'd put the lenses up.

"I don't--" he says, and stops. He had no idea where that sentence was going. He doesn't want to talk to Jason about this. Something in his expression, or maybe the way Tim won't look at him, must piss Jason off, because suddenly Tim is slammed up against the wall, Jason's forearm pressed against his throat.

"You don't, what," Jason says. Tim doesn't struggle and keeps his face blank, controlling and hiding the wince that wanted to form on his face. Jason just stares at him, incredulous. "You don't wanna talk about how your boyfriend--"

"No," says Tim, clipped. There's no point in talking. It's not happening again. "I don't. And--" he pointedly pulls a little at Jason's arm crushing his throat, just enough to remind Jason that he's not making this conversation easy. Jason doesn't pull away, just keeps staring. 

Jason's face is frightening--not because he thinks Jason would hurt him; he might, but that's not what's bothering Tim. It's intensity of the look on his face. The emotion there. Tim doesn't want to face it.

When he looks away again, Jason laughs, harsh and grating. "Of course you don't," he says, and lets up off of Tim's windpipe. Tim clears his throat and Jason punches him in the face.

It should be upsetting how much closer this feels to normal. Tim lets the momentum slam him back against the building--there's a nasty cracking noise when his head hits the brick--and uses it to spring into a messy front handspring that would make Dick wince but gets Tim the space he needs to hold his own in this fight, and out of the corner. And then Jason's on him again, immediate and shoving Tim into defensive mode with heavy, graceless punches that have Tim weaving and dodging and wishing for his bo staff. He gets in a hard kick to Jason's stomach, making Jason grunt and fall back; Tim means to use it to get them further into the open, a little more space, but Jason rocks forward and tackles him to the ground. Jason pins him, firmly, putting most of his weight on his knee jammed into Tim's solar plexus.

"I was just gonna shove your face in it a little, that's all," Jason says. 

Tim looks up at him, wary and still. Part of his brain is saying his complacence is only going to piss Jason off more. The rest of it doesn't care. 

"I don't know why you didn't wanna hear it, I was maybe gonna laugh 'cause I stole him from you. 'Cause he likes me better."

Tim can't laugh too well, now, because Jason's very heavy and very much restricting his breathing, but laughter forces its way out of him, a little mocking huff of air that makes Jason shove his knee in harder. "You know he doesn't care about you, beyond your mouth on his dick," he says nastily, and Jason stills above him.

"Yeah," Jason says, and his mouth twists. "Who does." And with that he shoves off of Tim, hard enough to leave Tim gasping and retching a little from the force on his stomach. When he recovers, Jason is gone. The last time they fought, before Kon had tried anything, Jason had offered Tim a hand up. Tim swallows and closes his eyes, just for a second, and then picks himself up, brushes some of the debris off of his cape, and heads off to finish his patrol.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason calls Kon to follow up on the special delivery. (phone sex porn!)

Jason has this problem where he doesn’t let things go. He’s like an injured dog without a cone around its neck, the way he gnaws at his memories. This clusterfuck with Tim and his pet clone has had Jason on edge, pissed an unable to concentrate on anything except this weird knot of jealousy and hurt and _anger_. It’s been tearing at him all day, chafing him and consuming him, before he finally snaps and decides to _do_ something about it. 

It's not hard to get ahold of Superjerk's phone number. Just a few minutes of rudimentary poking around and then Jason's sitting on his mattress in his boxers, calling Superboy on a prepaid, throwaway cell phone.

"You've reached Kent’s escort service, where discretion is our profession. How may I direct your call?"

Jason can't believe this guy. Still, "I've been shopping around for a companion and I've got something pretty specific in mind. Dunno if you can deliver. Dark hair, blue eyes, short. Kinda fussy, maybe more trouble than he's worth, but he's got a mouth that begs to be fucked."

Silence over the line. Then, disbelievingly, "Jason?"

Jason laughs.

"What--"

"Just checking on my delivery boy," Jason says idly, trying to scratch an itch on his ankle with his toes.

"I'm not your--what the fuck, Jason," Kent says, phone’s shitty reception lacing his voice with crackles. "How did you get this number?" 

Jason opens his mouth. 

"Ugh, don't answer that. I forgot who I was talking to. Why did you call me?"

"I told you," Jason says. "How else was I gonna ensure my very important package got to its destination?" He thinks about the word 'package,' and laughs a little to himself.

Kent huffs out a long breath. "Oh, is that all," he says, a little like a preteen trying sarcasm for the first time and not really pulling it off.

Jason waits expectantly.

And, bingo, Kent heaves a sigh right into the mouthpiece. "Yeah, I did it. You happy now?"

"C’mon, you gotta give me more than that, Superjerk," Jason says. He tries to stave off his impatience. Kent’s gonna crack open like a goddamn oyster if Jason just plays his cards right. 

Kent scoffs. "What, did you wanna know the details? The noises he makes? Or—no, I bet you just wanna know if he called your name."

Jason doesn’t want to know, doesn’t want to have to think about Kent with his hands on Tim at all, but there’s a clawing _need_ to hear it. He _has_ to know. "Heh. Since you're offering..."

"Why should I tell you anything?" Kent says. He’s trying to sound pissed, but he’s only managing petulant, and Jason can hear a thinly veiled spark of interest there. For one thing, Jason’s pretty sure Kent’s breathing just sped up. 

Jason drawls, "I dunno. Seemed like you enjoyed yourself enough last time.” He pauses, letting Kent digest the barb. “But hey, maybe if I try real hard I could think of something else for you to give to Tim."

Kent doesn't say anything for a bit, but—yeah, he's definitely breathing a little harder. Then he comes out with a whiny, "And you never thought maybe you should just call Tim?"

Jason laughs at him. "Yeah, no. You gonna tell me or what?" 

And, wonder of wonders, Kent sighs like he’s giving up, and does. "When I got there, he’d just jerked off. He was cleaning up, ‘cause he’s a freak. He...dude, I don’t know. I told him you wanted me to blow him. I told him to pretend I was you." 

That makes Jason swallow, kinda painfully. “He just went with that?” he demands. The picture comes easier to Jason’s mind than he’d like, Kent on his knees and Tim looking down at him, blank-faced and shuttered. It sends a hard pang through his chest. 

“Yeah,” snaps Kent. “Can I go now?" 

“Fuck, no. You owe me, Superjerk.” Jason pauses, mind racing. “Were you pretending to be me when you sucked him off?”

There’s a pause, just a little too long. “No,” Kent falters. 

Jason pounces.

“Doth mine ears deceive me? Is that a stutter I hear?" Jason settles back, lolling his head back against the wall. “Tell me. Was I your inspiration? Trying to be like bad old Jason Todd and play with the big boys?”

“Seriously, man, can’t you go two minutes without being an ass?” Kent whines. Jason’s about to say _where’s the fun in that_ , but Kent’s giving in with a fast rush of words. 

“Yeah, okay? Yeah. I tried to remember how you did it. Sloppy. Wet. Little bit of teeth.” Kent pauses, exhaling loudly. “I got him to fuck my mouth. Like I fucked yours.” 

Jason’s mind stutters and sticks on that image. Tim’s hips shoving against Kent’s face, choking him with it. It makes him sick with a nasty sort of vindication, a painful satisfaction, that if Tim and this bastard had to fuck, at least Jason was present in some way. 

“Hope you did my cocksucking skills justice,” Jason says. “Doubt it, though. You don’t seem like you’re too good at anything other than good ol’ country humping.”

“Fuck you,” Kent says. 

“Only if Tim’s listening in,” Jason says baldly, examining his fingertips. Ugh. Hangnails. 

Either Jason’s novel idea or his uncaring tone makes Kent choke on whatever he was about to say. Jason strikes another point in his own column. And then all of a sudden Kent’s words are tripping over themselves as he blurts out, “I thought maybe, if I was on my knees, he could look down and just see dark hair, he could pretend I was you if he squinted--”

“And you wanted him to,” Jason guesses. Kent’s breath hitches audibly and Jason grins, feral. Right on the money. “Here I was thinking you were just in it for a blowjob, but no. You wanted to get _used_.” 

Kent whimpers. The sound fills Jason with an intense surge of dislike. 

“You fucked us over, and now you're getting off on it,” Jason says, disgust staining his voice. “I bet you wanna do it again, don’t you?” 

“ _Please_ ," Kent moans. 

Jason sneers. “Fucking shameless,” he says cruelly. He can’t get the image out of his head, Tim with his hand stuffed in his mouth, lithe little body shuddering with feeling. Jason's hands clench, hard and involuntary. The thought of Kent with his hands on Tim at all sends anger tearing through him like fever. 

But this is something Jason can have, even if it’s a fucked up parody of what he wants. Kent’s hot for it, obviously; he’s probably got his hand down his pants thinking about it right now. And Tim...no one ever knows what Tim wants. But they can’t make him do something he doesn't want to, either. 

Yeah, Jason’s made up his mind. Fucked up sex with an alien clone as a go-between is a shitty consolation prize, but he’ll fucking take it. He can ignore the occasional stab of hurt in his chest for a couple decent orgasms. 

Or work through it, at least. 

“Maybe next time you can get him to call my name,” Jason says, casually callous. Kent’s breathing comes down through the line in whines, high and sharp. 

Jason’s getting hard, too, even through the mounting anger. Maybe because of it. He growls and shoves his boxers down, wrapping his fist around his cock. 

The friction, as good as it feels, doesn't give him any sense of relief, anger and arousal still thundering throughout his whole body. His whole body feels coiled tight, almost to the point of pain. Involuntarily, Jason's hips buck into the tight, sweat-damp circle of his fist. The flood of pleasure kinda pisses him off more. 

On the line, Jason can hear Kent's graceless little grunts and whimpering gasps. It reminds Jason of sucking him off, which makes him think of Tim listening in and suddenly Jason's got a fucking _doozy_ of a thought.

“You at home?” Jason asks, pausing with his hand squeezing the base of his dick. “Bet you anything he’s got a camera in your room somewhere. He could be watching you right now, watching you whimper with your hand stuffed down your pants--because your hand _is_ down your pants, isn’t it, Superjerk?”

Kent's swallow is audible. "Yeah," he says, voice so cracked and shaken it comes out a whisper. 

"What was that? Couldn't hear you." 

" _Yes,_ okay?! Yes, I'm fucking jerkin' it. Jesus."

Jason laughs at him. "Golly gee, I _never_ would have guessed!" he says. "Greedy, impatient little shit." 

Something about how Kent moans whenever Jason insults him is making Jason's heart grow three sizes and his dick twitch in his hands.

"Bet you want a helping hand," Jason says. "Bet you want me giving orders, don't you? Telling you how to do jerk yourself off, maybe making you say please before you get to touch yourself." 

Kent whimpers. Jason smirks. "Tough luck, buttercup."

" _Dick_ ," Kent says.

"Oh, good job! That _is_ your naughty bits you're fondling right now. Well done," Jason coos. 

Kent chokes. "I hate you so much right now." 

"Wouldn't have it any other way. But hey, tell me," Jason says, smearing precome around the head of his cock, "how's it feel, knowing Tim's watching, staring at the bulge in your jeans--you giving him a good show?"

Kent's response is an unintelligible garble, half-grunt, half groan. 

Jason scoffs. "I asked you a goddamn question, asshole," he says coldly. 

"Nhh--I'm--his camera's in the corner, I'm looking at it," Kent manages through his doglike panting.

"Why don't you give him a pretty smile," Jason simpers. "Tell him how much you're enjoying him watching you. I think he'd like hearing that, don't you, Superjerk?" 

" _God,_ " Kent moans.

"I'm waiting, Kent. Tell Timmy how much you like it. He wants you to." 

Kent practically sobs with arousal and it’s like Jason broke the dam on a flood of babbled nonsense. "God, fuck, Jason, I--Tim, fuck, nnh, fuck--" 

“Oh, but tell us how you _really_ feel!" Jason says. "Or don't." 

He rolls his eyes, slumping back against the wall. Kent's continued gibbering isn't doing a whole lot for his dick right now, and Jason's not even enjoying a good old hate boner at this point. Kent's too much like a dog trying to hump his leg for that. Jason's never gonna figure out how Tim spends so much time with the guy. 

"You gonna blow your load anytime soon, boy scout wonder? 'Cause I gotta say, you're not exactly holding my attention. My right _hand's_ more interesting than you right now." 

"God, yeah, I. Jason. Jason, Jason I'm gonna come--"

"Good for you."

"Fuck you-- _fuuuuuck_ \--"

A loud beep chimes in Jason's ear alarmingly. It takes him a second to realize that it was the cell phone beeping and not Kent's weird alien orgasm, before the phone is beeping again and dying on him.

Jason lets his hand fall from his ear. He stares at the blanked screen for a moment, Kent's last words echoing in his ear. Then he turns and, in one sharp movement, hurls the phone against the wall. 

It breaks into three pieces, plastic clattering onto the floor. Jason groans and rolls over onto his side. He wraps his hand around his dick again, burying his face in his pillow. The image of Tim watching Kon on the surveillance tape is burned brightly onto the backs of his eyelids. 

At least Jason's getting to him somehow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to Eggie, Kat, Sasha, and Anna for all the help.


	7. Chapter 7

Kon has been dreading today's team strategy meeting all week. A half hour before the meeting starts, he's still procrastinating, doing every chore around the farm he can think of. It's cowardly, but at this point, Kon doesn't give a fuck. He's okay with being a coward if it means he can avoid Tim for just a little longer.

Besides, Teen Titan meetings suck under normal circumstances; Kon's skipped enough that Cassie's stopped bothering with her pointed comments that the meetings are _mandatory_. Now she just threatens to kick him off the team. 

Kon believes her. The look in her eyes was less "you're a member of this team and it's time for you to act like one," and more "next time you skip, I'm going to fucking eviscerate you." 

It's just that now, considering the whole situation with Tim...yeah. Not only is it going to be a useless, boring waste of time, it's going to be awkward and uncomfortable and Kon is going to have to avoid Tim's eyes and it's going to make Kon feel guilty and terrible and all in all Kon would rather be mucking out the stables. 

And after Cassie finds out he skipped, Kon can hide in the Fortress of Solitude. 

Forever.

Trouble with superpowers is, most things don’t really take enough time for effective procrastination. Kon starts running out of chores. Once he finishes weeding the garden, washing the truck, and changing the oil in the tractors, he tries cleaning the oven as a last resort. It works for a while, because super strength is apparently no match for oven grime. Who knew. 

That’s how Martha finds him, trapped with his torso in the oven and coated up to his elbows in grease. Kon pretends not to notice her standing there, hoping she’ll just go away and leave him to it. Hey, she’s always trying to get him to help out more around the house, so maybe she’ll--

"Conner Kent," Ma says, disappointment practically emanating off her in waves. "You know it's rude to keep your friends waiting." 

Kon lets go of the crocheted pink scrubbie, ducking his head. "Yeah, but--" 

"No buts, Conner. You have a responsibility to your teammates, and it's not fair to them to ignore it." She removes one hand from her hips and holds it out to Kon. Shamefaced, he lets her pull him to his feet. 

"Besides," she adds, patting a bit of dust off of his shirt, "rattling around the house like that, you’re make me nervous just lookin' at you." 

After that, Kon has no choice but to get out of her hair.

He still puts off leaving as long as possible, mostly by screwing around. After Kon wastes a few minutes by flying in aimless circles, Krypto hurtles up to him, panting and barking and giving him a big old doggy grin. Kon takes the opportunity to play fetch. He'd been neglecting the poor guy lately. 

After a couple dozen rounds, he figures he really should go to the meeting. He'd have to face Tim sooner or later. Not to mention, he'd skipped the last meeting, so Cassie's "I will end you" face is still fresh in his mind. If he skips this week, she's probably going to get revenge on him, Greek mythology style. Tie him to a cliff so an eagle pecks out his liver every day for all eternity. 

It's not fair that he has such scary friends. 

Kon's still trying to shake the mental image of Cassie cackling over his liver-lite body when he finally tumbles into the Tower. And of _course_ the meeting’s already started; it screeches to a halt when Kon flies in, everyone’s heads automatically jerking toward the doors. Rose even glances up from examining her nails. Cassie looks like she’s about to set Kon on fire. With her eyes. 

The only person who doesn’t even flinch is Tim, and that’s...somehow way worse than Cassie glowering. Kon tears his eyes away from him to look at the other expectant faces. 

“Uh,” Kon says. “Hi.” 

Wow, who would have known Cassie could amp up the death glare up to eleven.

Kon ducks his head and slinks over to his seat. All he has to do is look down at the table and zone out and wait for the meeting to be over. 

Except for how before five minutes are even up, he's sneaking glances at Tim. Kinda like an injured dog trying to chew at his own wounds. It’s just that Tim looks like death. He's staring down, listless and unmoving, at his own hands. His cowl is pulled back, and for once Kon wishes it wasn't; the perpetual bags under Tim's eyes are darker and more pronounced. He hasn't so much as shifted in his seat this whole time.

Yeah, Kon is officially the second-biggest tool in the known universe. (First is still Booster Gold. Natch.)

Maybe if he tunes back in, he can forget about what an asshole he is for, like, five minutes. If he tries really hard, it's possible even Cassie's lecture on property damage might just hold his attention for a moment or two.

Except that the second he starts trying to focus again, Cassie glances over at Tim, quizzical. Kon accidentally follows her gaze, which--big mistake. Apparently glancing out of the corner of his eye didn’t fully convey how completely sickly Tim looks right now. Kon slumps lower in his seat. 

"So, Red Robin--thoughts?" Cassie asks. "Anything to add?" 

Rose snorts, sliding her legs down from where they were crossed on the table. "Yeah, _Red Robin_ , you've been awful quiet today. Don't tell me you're finally trusting Wonder Priss to lead her team without a babysitter?" 

Cassie frowns. "It's not _my_ t--"

Tim cuts her off. "I think it's a good plan, Wonder Girl," he says.

"That’s gotta be a first." 

"What, Rose, are you _trying_ to start a fight?" Kon snaps. 

"Kon--" Cassie starts. 

"Oh, please. I just thought we should mark it down for the history books. For the first time in his life, ex-Boy Wonder doesn't have anything negative to say." 

Kon sits up straight. "Why don't you _back off_ \--"

"No," Tim interrupts. The table goes dead silent.

Tim slowly, deliberately pushes himself to his feet. "You know what? You're right, Rose." He glances back at Kon for just a split second, poison in his glare palpable. Kon flinches. And then, like it never happened, Tim's looking back at Rose, his face set and blank once more.

"Congratulations. You got what you wanted," Tim spits, before yanking up his cowl and stalking out the door. 

Silence spills out over the room like an oil slick. 

For a few moments, nobody moves, nobody seems to breathe. And then Kara stage whispers "What just happened," across the table to M'gann. It sparks a flurry of movement and whispers spreading across the room, including Rose’s huffy little “ _okay_ , Jesus. Drama queen.” 

Cassie looks over at Kon, bafflement plain on her face. A heady wave of guilt chokes him for the dozenth time that day. He glances downward, avoiding her eyes. 

"I'm gonna go talk to him," he mumbles to the floor. He flies out, ducking his head so he doesn’t have to acknowledge the blatant stares of everyone in the room.

"Going to talk to him" turns out to mean "staring morosely at Tim's door for a solid ten minutes." He keeps raising his fist to knock, or opening his mouth to say something, and completely chickening out. Any more of this and he’s gonna have to change his codename to Superweenie.

Just as he talks himself out of knocking for the third time, the door slides open, the suddenness of the motion making Kon jerk back involuntarily. Tim’s standing there, sans cape and cowl, looking incredibly displeased. Kon opens his mouth to make an excuse. Can't find one. Winds up just staring.

Tim stares back at him, blank and motionless, for what seems like an eternity. An eternity in which Kon fails miserably at anything other than gaping like a fish.

After this insurmountably awkward uncountable length of time, Tim's lips tighten. Wordlessly, he steps aside. Kon swallows, shifting from foot to foot for a moment. It takes him a second to gather up enough courage to speak.

"Uh," Kon says. He kicks himself mentally. Great use of words there, Kon. Really great.

"In or out," Tim says, face unreadable.

"Right," Kon says weakly. "Uh, in. I guess." 

He has this bizarre urge to glance at Tim's face to check and make sure that was the correct answer. Instead, he ducks his head to avoid looking at Tim's face and shuffles in. 

They wind up sitting side-by-side on the bed. Kon stares at the floor. 

Linoleum. Interesting. 

It's hard when you simultaneously have no idea how to deal with silence, and no idea what to say. Tim's not helping. Kon thinks he might be embarrassed over his little outburst earlier, but there’s really no way to tell, what with the way they’re both refusing to look at each other.

Kon's not sure if an apology would be even welcome, now. If it were, he wouldn't know how to start. 

They sit. Kon fidgets. Tim stares at the wall.

Wow, they suck at this.

Kon opens his mouth to say, "So, what now," but suddenly, something pings in his brain. Superhearing. He catches the tail end of his name, shouted halfway across the country. Kon freezes, tuning in to it, cocking his head like a dog hearing the call of its master. 

When Kon can hear it clearly, the familiar voice intimately in his ear makes his breath catch, makes his pulse race. Tim turns to frown at him, wordlessly demanding an explanation. 

" _Jason_ ," Kon moans, half in response to Tim, half to Jason’s laughing drawl. Tim’s eyes widen. Kon reaches for him. The second before he takes Tim’s face in his hands, he sees Tim’s whole body shift into eager compliance, and then he’s melting into Kon's ( _Jason's_ ) touch.


End file.
